


Down on My Knees

by idoltina



Series: Equality [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in December 2014. Blaine just wants a blowjob. His elderly neighbor, Kurt's parents, and a plan that's been in the making for three and a half years all serve as sources to Blaine's seemingly never-ending sexual frustration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down on My Knees

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings (if any):** Language, sex

Blaine just wants a blowjob.

The last semester has been fairly rough on both him and Kurt; most of their classes were at different times, and usually when one of them had a spare hour or two, the other was working at the campus bookstore or the coffee shop down the street. There have been loads of term papers and study groups and late nights, too few mornings sleeping late together in bed or afternoons grabbing coffee between classes; too few nights actually sitting down to dinner together or, god forbid, actually being intimate. The end of the semester had been a welcome relief, especially to Blaine who was double majoring. The Friday night after Kurt's last final had been spent mostly in bed, bodies fast and desperate and eager beneath the duvet while the snow fell outside, white and red boxes of take-out eaten in haste before they'd both collapsed from exhaustion.

It's been two weeks since then. A not-so-quick trip back to Lima for Christmas and too many shifts and scheduling conflicts have kept them together and apart all at once, obligations to parents and friends and employers preventing them from doing even as little as rutting against each other in the hall closet, Kurt's back pressed against the door. And Blaine? Well, frankly, Blaine was starting to get pretty tired of it. Two weeks of watching Kurt's lips wrap around candy canes and biscotti and cinnamon sticks left Blaine feeling desperate and aching.

Which is how Blaine finds himself now, on the last night of the year, settled into the cushions of the sofa, shirt unbuttoned; Kurt's shoved Blaine's pants and boxers down so that they're pooled around Blaine's ankles, Blaine's legs spread and Kurt's lips wrapped around the head of his cock and it is _heaven_.

Kurt's wasting no time, thankfully; his fist grips the base of Blaine's cock firmly, jerking in a quick, practiced manner, tongue flattened against the underside of Blaine's cock, lips stretched wide around the head as he bobs up and down. Kurt's free hand wanders down after a few minutes, nail dragging against the sensitive skin of Blaine's perineum. Blaine shivers, completely unaware of the cold outside, sweat gathering on his brow, dripping down his spine to the small of his back; each pass of the pad of Kurt's thumb over his hole causes his legs to tremble. Kurt's mouth and fingers are almost too much, too much and too fast, _hot, wet_ and the blunt scrape of Kurt's nail causes Blaine's hips to jerk up involuntarily, cock sliding further into Kurt's mouth. Blaine feels the head of his cock hit the back of Kurt's mouth and start to slide into Kurt's throat. Kurt moans around him, hand pumping furiously at the base of Blaine's cock and Blaine is _just about there_ \--

 _Knock, knock_.

Kurt stills his movement, mouth still enveloping Blaine's cock, slick with spit. Blaine groans, pressing his fingers firmly into the muscle of Kurt's shoulder. “Don't stop,” Blaine chokes out, looking down at Kurt with wide, earnest eyes. “ _Please_ , don't stop.”

Kurt hesitates, eyes flicking in the direction of the front door, and after a moment has passed in complete silence, he resumes his actions. His hand is a little slower than before and he has to shift on his knees to get a better angle, head rising and then falling, taking in more of Blaine's cock than he had before. Blaine moans gratefully, fingers kneading against Kurt's shoulder. He keeps his gaze trained on Kurt as his boyfriend works, eager to please and make up for time lost. There's a warm, tight, coiling sensation in his gut, behind his balls, and just when Blaine's ready to let go and give himself over to the orgasm he's been waiting for for the last two weeks --

 _Knock, knock_.

Kurt pulls off of Blaine's cock with a lewd _pop_ , eyes narrowed in the direction of the door. “No, no, no,” Blaine babbles, trying to push Kurt's head back down. “Come on, Kurt, so close --”

“One second,” Kurt promises, pushing himself off of his knees and leaning down to kiss Blaine quickly before darting over to the front door. Blaine groans in frustration, reaching a hand down and squeezing the base of his cock in an effort to enjoy Kurt's mouth a little longer when he comes back. “Hi, Mrs. Perkins,” he hears Kurt sigh tiredly. “What can we help you with?”

“I hate to be a bother, dear,” the sweet, warbling voice answers back, and Blaine has to fight hard not to completely hate their elderly neighbor with every fiber of his being in that moment. “But I was wondering if I could get you to change the light bulb in my kitchen. It blew out tonight.” Blaine actually _whimpers_ at her word choice.

“Oh, um, sure,” Kurt coughs out, clearing his throat. “Just one second --” He pokes his head around the frame of the entryway that separates the hallway from the living room and casts an apologetic glance in Blaine's direction. “I'll be right back,” he whispers. “Five minutes, tops.” Blaine waves him away, fist squeezing at the base of his cock again as Kurt disappears and the front door closes with a _click_.

Anything involving Mrs. Perkins always takes forty-five minutes, at the very least.

Blaine sighs and glances down at his cock, hard and throbbing and glistening with spit, desperate for release. He contemplates just jerking himself off instead, a quick fix to his problem, but in the three minutes it takes for him to make up his mind and his fingers to start dancing lightly around the shaft, Kurt has attended to their neighbor's needs and returned to Blaine, face set in determination. “No,” he snaps firmly, batting Blaine's hand away from his cock and sinking to his knees again. “I promised you a blowjob. I'm giving you a blowjob. No cheating.”

“Thank you,” Blaine groans, thumb running across the apple of Kurt's cheek before reaching up and tangling his fingers in Kurt's hair. Kurt's mouth sinks around him again (hot, wet, god, _yes_ ), hand much quicker in adjusting to the speed it was previously at, lips stretching and wrapping, tongue gliding and pressing _firm_ against him. It takes Blaine two minutes, if that, to get worked up enough again to the point where he feels like he's ready to let go. He tightens his hold on Kurt's hair; Kurt moans appreciatively and shifts again, knees pushing him upwards and head twisting just so on the upstroke. Kurt sinks down again, the new angle affording more room for Blaine's cock; Blaine gasps, throwing his head back against the back of the couch, hips canting up and off of the couch, shoving his cock into Kurt's mouth in pure desperation, and he's close, so god damn _close_ \--

 _Knock, knock_.

“No,” Blaine growls, refusing to relinquish his hold on Kurt's head. Kurt obeys, and Blaine can see him mouth watering, dripping down and around Blaine's cock; his eyes flick up to meet Blaine's, blue dark and _starving_ \--

 _Knock, knock_.

“No,” Blaine pants, nails dragging against Kurt's scalp. “No, Kurt, do _not_ answer that, I swear to god, Mrs. Perkins can wait two minutes --”

Kurt's eyes stay fixed on Blaine's but soften a little, movement slowing a little. It's not until the third knock that Kurt groans in frustration, the vibrations almost too much and still not enough for Blaine. Kurt pulls off of Blaine's cock slowly, apologetically. “Let me just get rid of her,” he rasps out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “She'll keep knocking otherwise.” Kurt pushes himself to his feet and walks past Blaine. Blaine huffs out indignantly, closing his eyes at the ceiling. It's a moment before the front door clicks open again, and then Kurt's voice is almost _too_ bright, _too_ cheerful. “Dad, hi!”

“ _Shit_ ,” Blaine seethes, head snapping forward off of the couch too quickly, straining his neck. “ _Shit, shit, shit_ ,” he mumbles, pushing himself up off of the couch and grabbing for his clothes, still pooled around his ankles. It's obvious that he's still hard even after he pulls on his boxers, and it's with great pain that he tugs his jeans back on over them, zipper straining painfully against him. His fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt as he turns and stumbles towards the hallway; he only manages to get half of them done when he makes an appearance, panting hard and face flushed, trying desperately to draw attention away from the very prominent bulge in his pants. “Burt, hi,” he greets, flustered. “I didn't know you were coming!”

“Surprise!” Burt explains happily, reaching out to tug him into a hug. “Kurt said you kids were gonna brave Times Square this year. We thought we'd join you. Sounded like fun.”

“Oh,” Blaine huffs out, arms going a little stiff as Carole emerges from behind Burt and wraps her arms around Blaine. “Oh, that's -- yeah, we're going down there.”

Kurt snorts a little, fighting not to laugh. “You hungry?” Burt asks. “We figured we'd take you out.”

Kurt smiles at him. “That's nice of you. We'd love --”

“Can you give us just _one_ second?” Blaine cuts in, tugging Kurt by the arm back into the living room. “I didn't know your parents were coming,” Blaine hisses quietly.

“I didn't either,” Kurt snaps back defensively. “But we can't just get rid of them now.”

Blaine inhales sharply, resting his forehead against Kurt's and closing his eyes. “Kurt,” he says steadily, reaching for Kurt's hand and moving it the front of his jeans, “if I don't come soon, I am going to die.”

“I know, I know,” Kurt soothes, removing his hand and massaging the back of Blaine's neck. “But you don't want me to finish this now, do you? With my parents on the other side of the wall?” When Blaine doesn't answer, Kurt squeezes his shoulder. “Blaine?”

“I'm contemplating it,” Blaine admits. Kurt smacks him lightly on the shoulder. “Hey, that is pretty much _all_ we did our senior year, remember? Whether it was at my house or yours, whether there were other people in the house or not, we still had sex. We just closed the door.”

“Yes, but a closed door didn't necessarily mean we were having sex,” Kurt reminds him. “I'm pretty sure it's going to be fairly obvious what we're doing if we close a door right now. And that's just going to be awkward for everyone.”

“Yeah, well, it's going to be awkward for me for the next few minutes,” Blaine snorts, glancing down at his cock, still straining against the zipper of his jeans.

“Baby, I _promise_ that when we get back after midnight, I will finish this. No interruptions or anything. First blowjob of the new year,” Kurt adds, grinning.

Blaine glares at him. “Fine,” he grumbles. “At least give me a few minutes to make myself presentable?” Kurt nods, kissing him softly at first and then a little more eager, mouth pressing firm against Blaine's; his tongue brushes over Blaine's lips and Blaine pulls back with a gasp, shaking his head. “No,” he insists. “Kurt, you are _not_ helping right now.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Kurt apologizes, throwing his hands up in surrender. He pushes Blaine in the direction of the bedroom and rejoins his parents near the front door, chatting happily. Blaine takes a moment in the bedroom to close his eyes and just _breathe_ trying hard not to remember the image of Kurt on his knees, lips wrapped around Blaine's cock. Blaine snaps open his eyes and glances at the clock on the nightstand.

Eight hours. He can totally do this.

Finn and Rachel meet them their favorite hole-in-the-wall diner a half hour later, bundled up in thick coats and scarves and gloves, faces bright. Blaine doesn't even care that Finn's presence is a surprise; he completely ignores Burt and Carole's explanations of wanting to see the three of them again before going back to school. Blaine takes one look at Finn's face and just _knows_.

Finn just got _laid_.

Teeming with jealousy, Blaine wraps his arms around himself a little tighter, pouting. It is completely, completely unfair that Burt and Carole let Finn see Rachel before dinner. They had ample time to do as they pleased beforehand; the diner is a mere five minute walk from Rachel's apartment, much safer for her at night.

“You coming?” Burt asks, nudging Blaine with his elbow.

Blaine nods a little mournfully, moving to follow the rest of the group into the diner, but Kurt's hand wraps around his other elbow, holding him in place. “We'll be there in a minute,” he tells his father. “Grab a table.” Burt merely nods and ushers Carole inside, the four of them unfurling and thawing from the cold. Blaine turns to Kurt with raised eyebrows. “Stop it,” Kurt chastises.

“Stop what?”

“Stop pouting,” Kurt says seriously. “I know you're ridiculously horny right now but can you please, _please_ just try to enjoy this? We're going to Times Square, our family is here-”

“ _Your_ family,” Blaine corrects begrudgingly.

Kurt stares at him for a moment, lips pursed. “No,” he says slowly. “ _Our_ family. You've been a part of this family for a long time, Blaine.”

Blaine closes his eyes and sighs, leaning forward and hooking his chin over Kurt's shoulder. “You're right,” he mumbles. “I'm sorry. I just --”

“You want a blowjob, I know.” Kurt holds him a little closer, hands flat and firm against Blaine's scapulas. “Just... try to get through tonight, okay? For me? It's important.”

Blaine pulls back, brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

Kurt takes a long, steady breath in before answering. “It's Carole's first time in New York. And my dad has only been here once before.”

“Fair point,” Blaine concedes. “I'll try not to act like a child.”

“I'm pretty sure a child wouldn't be complaining about a lack of blowjob,” Kurt laughs.

“All right, I'll try not to act _petulant_ ,” Blaine says, grinning. “Satisfied?”

“Yes,” Kurt says happily, leaning in and nudging Blaine's nose affectionately with his own. “And you will be later,” he adds, lowering his voice.

“Kurt,” Blaine groans warningly. “Again, _not helping_.”

“I have to keep your interest up,” Kurt reasons. Blaine glares at him, and Kurt rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. Stop being petulant.”

“You always keep my interest,” Blaine admits, smiling. “But come on, let's get out of the cold and get something to eat. Try and make this enjoyable for everyone.” Kurt allows Blaine to tug him into the diner but runs into him when Blaine stops suddenly, whirling around. “And I swear to god, if you eat anything remotely phallic, I'm dragging you into the bathroom so I can cash in on your promise early.”

“Okay, okay,” Kurt laughs.

Blaine manages to make it through most of dinner; he does have to fight back a groan when some of the whipped cream from Kurt's hot chocolate gets left behind on his upper lip, white and tantalizing. Blaine nods at him, gesturing with his napkin, refusing to lean over and wipe Kurt clean. Kurt doesn't exactly help matters, though, when he merely pokes his tongue out and sweeps it over his upper lip, white disappearing between his lips. Blaine reaches down as discreetly as he can, palming himself gently through his jeans; Kurt takes notice and removes Blaine's hand, linking it with his own, thumb rubbing comforting circles over the top of Blaine's hand.

It's snowing a little when they leave the diner, bundled as warm and tight as they possibly can be. Carole expresses an interest to walk through Central Park; no one objects, and the six of them break off into pairs. Finn and Rachel take the lead, mere feet in front of Burt and Carole; Rachel talks loud and fast, pointing out places of interest and regaling Carole with tales of her adventures in the city as they walk. They all stop to listen to a group of carolers performing _What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?_ ; the four former members of New Directions join in quietly after a moment, Rachel's grin the widest of them all.

Kurt and Blaine trail behind the other four after a while, still within sight but far enough away to talk without being overheard. “This is nice,” Blaine admits, “being with you like this.”

“It's been a long semester,” Kurt acknowledges, intertwining his fingers with Blaine's. “I think the last time I was in Central Park was September.”

“Labor day picnic?” Blaine muses with a grin.

Kurt hums, rolling his eyes but smiling all the same. “I seem to remember you acting like a child _then_.”

“It was hot,” Blaine defends, faking offense. “Can you blame me for bringing a secret stash of water balloons?”

“Yes, I can,” Kurt throws back dryly. “You almost _ruined_ Dior, Blaine. _Dior._ ”

“You managed to salvage it,” Blaine reminds him, nestling his head on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt sighs but relents, releasing Blaine's hand and tucking his arm around Blaine's shoulders. They're quiet for a few moments, slowly closing the gap between them and the other four. “Sometimes I almost don't believe it's real,” he admits after a while.

“You almost don't believe what's real?”

“This,” Blaine clarifies. “Us. New York. The last few years. Everything's gone right.”

“Aside from a too-small apartment and a lack of sleep and almost-ruined Dior, yes,” Kurt quips wryly.

“Stop,” Blaine laughs. “I'm serious. Don't you want me to enjoy tonight?”

Kurt's quiet. “Yeah, I do.”

They manage to catch up to the others then, venturing out to Times Square, the hour too late and the crowds too large for them to do more than stand on the outskirts and watch the masses. The ball is still visible from their position but just barely. Blaine catches Burt grinning in the direction of two women running in circles after their daughter, the toddler's tongue hanging out in hopes of tasting snowflakes. And really, the night isn't bad. Rachel seems happier than she's been in a while; Blaine knows she's been run down, turned away from one audition after another, under-appreciated and overworked. But tonight, that girl is nowhere to be found. In her place is a bright, beaming girl, hands wrapped around Finn's arm and clinging to happiness. Blaine keeps catching Burt glancing over at him and Kurt, eyes lingering, something faint in his eyes that Blaine can't quite make out. Carole is the glue holding them all together, distracting them from tired limbs and cold and pushy people, natives and tourists alike. It's the first time Blaine's been able to really enjoy the sense of _family_ in a while, comfortable in his own skin and happy to have Kurt's hand in his.

“He's happy, you know,” Burt tells him when they manage to snag a moment alone, slightly apart from the rest of the group.

Blaine grins up at him. “I try.”

“You do,” Burt says in that patient and slightly annoyed voice Blaine's come to associate with 'you're right and I should hate you for it but I don't.'

“He's glad you're here,” Blaine admits, trying to deflect the attention. “I know we just saw you guys last week, but it's different, having you here. You haven't really gotten to see what it's like for us here since we moved out here.”

“Don't have to,” Burt shrugs. “I've been here, what, a few hours? I know it's better for you to be here. Safer.” His gaze drifts over to the women and their daughter again, Blaine's following.

“It is,” Blaine admits. “I hate that's what it comes down to, but it is. But Kurt wants -- _we_ want to be here. You know that.”

“He hasn't wanted anything else since he was twelve,” Burt admits with a laugh. His laugh tapers off, though, when he shifts his gaze back to Blaine. “Except you.”

Blaine feels the heat creep up his neck and onto his face. “I'm not the best person to answer that, honestly.”

“It wasn't really a question.” The corner of Burt's mouth twitches up, as if he's trying really, really hard not to let it show how much he likes Blaine. “You're a good kid. I know things were a little rocky for you guys at first, but you've been good for him. You helped him grow up. Not many people get him, even less appreciate him. He's always had his friends from glee club -- Finn, Rachel.” Burt nods in their direction. “But I've seen them together. It's not always easy.”

“It is with me?” Blaine asks, eyes wrinkling.

“You make it easy,” Burt explains. “If I asked you to climb that thing and risk falling to your death or getting electrocuted just to get that stupid ball for him, you'd do it.”

“I'm not really a masochist,” Blaine laughs. “And I'm pretty sure Kurt's not much of a sadist.”

“That's not the point I was trying to make,” Burt argues, but he's laughing now too.

“I get it,” Blaine assures him quietly, eyes shifting over to where Kurt is bent over his iPhone with Carole, no doubt mapping out a route to take her shopping the next day. “I would, you know.”

Burt snorts. “Yeah, _I know_.” Blaine grins at him. Burt nudges Blaine's elbow with his own before moving forward to rejoin the rest of them. Blaine follows, lingering a little to watch fondly as Kurt hugs his dad tightly from the side, chattering excitedly as he shows Burt the map on the phone. Burt murmurs something, low and quiet, to which Kurt only nods, a small smile playing at his lips.

The crowd grows even thicker behind them as it gets closer to midnight, everyone's patience wearing thin with each passing hour. Burt groans in frustration, forcing Kurt's iPhone back into his son's hands after failing the fifth level of Angry Birds for the fiftieth time in a row; Finn is inexplicably starving and desperate to find food, but Rachel forces him to stay, insisting that if he leaves them now, he won't find them again before midnight, and she's _getting_ her New Year's kiss. Kurt starts to fidget nervously around eleven, constantly shifting his weight from one leg to the other, fingers running down each individual thread on the ends of his scarf meticulously. Blaine and Carole are the only ones who manage to keep it together, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly. Carole massages the tension out of Kurt's shoulders; the closer it gets to midnight, Blaine takes to trying to kiss the anxiety and anticipation out of Kurt's face. It seems to comfort him, at least a little.

More cameras start to appear, out of windows and overhead on cranes, news crews parking nearby in vans to capture shots of the festivities. At five to midnight, the crowd starts to roar, horns blowing loudly, all eyes trained on the screen above. And Blaine smiles, takes the time to be happy because Kurt is happy, because _he_ makes Kurt happy.

In the last twenty seconds of 2014, as the crowd bends its knees, hands cupped around mouths, ready to count backwards from ten, Blaine feels Kurt tugging on his elbow. “Blaine,” Kurt calls in his ear, fighting to be heard above the noise.

“Yeah?” Blaine calls back, keeping his eyes trained on the screen.

“Look at me!” Kurt laughs in his ear, tugging a little more insistently.

“Now?” Blaine asks. “Can't it wait?”

“No,” Kurt insists. Sighing, Blaine turns to look at him; Blaine's heart _stops_ , leaping into his throat --

_Kurt is down on one knee._

“What are you doing?” Blaine asks blankly, eyes wide.

“What does it look like I'm doing?” Kurt teases with an affectionate grin (and the count is official now, _ten, nine_ ). Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine sees Finn open his mouth to answer but Rachel elbows him roughly, her own phone trained on the pair of them, smile wider than Blaine's ever seen it. Blaine watches at Kurt digs around in the pocket of his coat, and then he's unearthing a small, black box --

 _Seven, six_ , and Blaine can't breathe- “You are _not_.”

Kurt arches an eyebrow at him, obviously amused, but he gathers himself on _four, three_. There's a flash of gold, bright and gleaming even in the dark of the night and the light of the city, _two_ \-- “Will you marry me?”

One, and Blaine is seventeen again, Kurt's blue eyes piercing his own in the dark. There's an explosion of noise but it falls on deaf ears. It's the color that falls from the sky that catches Blaine's attention, reminding him of _yellow, orange, green, pink, blue, purple_. They're in the parking lot of Six Flags and then in the Hummel living room, celebrating the fact that they _can_ , voices too young and afraid to speak up and claim what they want, what they know is inevitable.

This.

There are faint echos of _Happy New Year!_ in Blaine's ears as he refocuses, jaw hanging open a little and stomach twisting in knots.

_Kurt's been planning this._

“Say yes!” someone cat-calls from a distance, and the people around them smile and laugh in anticipation, but Kurt has eyes for no one but Blaine, smile hesitant and nervous but sure, so, so sure.

He's always been sure.

“Blaine?” Kurt ventures, faltering a little.

“Yes,” Blaine chokes out, reaching a hand up to bite at his knuckles. “Oh my god, _yeah_.”

And just like that, it's all so much more _real_ , them being together and being in New York and it's not just that they can, anymore. It's that they _will_.

Kurt flashes a smile at him and pushes himself to his feet, stumbling forward a little and fumbling to pull the ring out of the box, hands cold against Blaine's as he removes Blaine's gloves. His fingers are trembling as the metal encircles Blaine's skin, endless and binding and belonging. Tears join the snow and confetti on Blaine's eyelashes but he doesn't even care. “I told you I couldn't keep it together around you,” Blaine laughs.

Kurt reaches out, thumbs cleaning the cold and wet and color from Blaine's eyes. Hands cupping both sides of Blaine's face in his hands, Kurt leans forward and kisses him senseless, inhaling and taking all of Blaine's air, taking what he owns, now, what's always been his.

“ _I'm gonna marry the night_ ,” Rachel sings, voice teasing and gleeful. Kurt pulls away and snorts with laughter against Blaine's face, unable to control himself. Blaine flushes and tries to look anywhere but at Rachel, eyes finding Burt's instead. Blaine tenses a little, unsure, but Burt is _smiling_ at him, clearly pleased and amused and --

“You knew,” Blaine says stupidly. “That's why you came. You knew he was going to ask.”

Burt chuckles. “Kid, I've known since you _could_.” He's the first to attempt to pry their fingers from each others' arms, tugging Kurt into a hug first and then Blaine, Carole immediately behind him. Finn's smile is a little more reserved with Blaine but Rachel is completely unrestrained, throwing her arms around them both and almost tackling Kurt to the ground in her glee.

It takes them a while to navigate their way out of the masses, eyes tired and muscles fatigued; every so often, Blaine feels a hand on his shoulder or elbow and turns to meet a smiling face offering a congratulations. All the while, Kurt doesn't let go of his still-ungloved hand, thumb tracing the metal encircling Blaine's finger, reminding them both that _they can, they will_. Eventually, they're far enough away from the crowds to pile Burt and Carole into a taxi, making them promise to call or text when they make it back to the hotel and promising in return to meet them for brunch before scouring sales racks.

Finn and Rachel keep them company a little while longer, Rachel doing most of the talking (“-- and you _have_ to let me help you pick out your band. I know people, they're the best --”). They reach Rachel's apartment quicker than Blaine expected, engulfing each other in hugs, shivering and in desperate need of heat. Blaine doesn't even really care. He's too happy to care. There's a loud _thud_ once the door closes after them; Blaine hears Finn laugh and Rachel giggle and he still can't find it in him to care or even be jealous this time around.

He glances over at Kurt and smiles, gripping Kurt's hand tighter. Kurt returns the smile, tugging Blaine in for a quick kiss, lips chapped and air spiraling like smoke and frost between them. “Come on,” Kurt says, tugging at Blaine's hand. “Let's go home.”

Blaine laughs and allows himself to be tugged down the sidewalk but doesn't match Kurt's haste. “I'm not in any rush.”

Kurt stops, looking back at him curiously. “Not going to die anymore?” he quips dryly.

Blaine shakes his head, still smiling. “Not before I get to marry you.” Kurt softens immediately, smile present again, and the rest of the walk to their apartment is spent in relative silence, hands joined and metal binding them.

It's almost a mistake, though, to let the silence linger so long, to let touch be the only thing that allows them to communicate in those minutes, an inexplicable warmth transcending down each arm and into their fingers, combining and colliding and trying not to combust and explode. As they climb the stairs to their apartment, Blaine's lips find the back of Kurt's neck, feather-light and lingering, wet and wanting. Kurt's hand tightens in his, and he's practically dragging Blaine down the hallway. And Blaine can't wait, can't bear not to speak or do anything anymore; he's _going_ to explode, _going_ to die if he doesn't somehow get the message across, doesn't attach himself to Kurt and bring them as close together as he wants.

Three doors down from their apartment, Blaine stops abruptly, tugging at Kurt's hand and pinning his fiance ( _fiance_ ) against the wall, lips crashing and fusing, earnest and eager and _needy_. Kurt whines his surprise but doesn't push Blaine away, instead reaching up and gripping the hair at the back of Blaine's head. Blaine's fingers flex dangerously tight against Kurt's waist and he pushes his tongue into Kurt's mouth, gliding and tangling. Kurt's hips rock up and against him, and _oh_ , he's _hard_ \--

Blaine doesn't really register that they've moved; there's one click, and then another, and then they're finally, finally back in their own apartment. Blaine's back hits the door with a too loud _bang_ , Kurt's lips latching onto his like he wants to suck the air from Blaine's mouth. Blaine feels a sharp sting as Kurt's teeth nip at his bottom lip when Kurt breaks the kiss. Blaine's eyes flutter open, chest heaving and jaw gaping. “Jesus.” Kurt hums, not meeting Blaine's eyes; his thumb flicks open the button of Blaine's jeans, his fingers tugging the zipper down quickly. “I think you want this more than I do,” Blaine laughs.

Kurt lifts his head again, pressing his lips to Blaine's in wet, dirty kiss; his hand slips into Blaine's waistband, hand enclosing around Blaine's cock. Blaine pulls back from the kiss with a gasp. “You were saying?” Kurt says dryly.

“I'm going to die,” Blaine whines, knuckles turning white as he tightens his grip on Kurt's shoulder. “Oh _god_ , I'm going to die.”

“I thought the point of this was so that didn't happen,” Kurt teases, pulling Blaine out of his boxers for better access. “Plus, you don't get to die before you marry me, remember?”

“No, that's -- _god_ \-- that's my point. I can't do this right now.” Kurt's hand stills as his eyes narrow. “It's too much,” Blaine explains breathlessly. “I can't just shut off my feelings and rush right back into this. You just _proposed_ , Kurt.”

Kurt's mouth twists in an attempt to fight back a smile. “Okay,” he concedes, “then what do _you_ propose?”

“Help me choose,” Blaine begs. “I can do one or the other but don't make me do both. I can't handle that right now.”

Kurt bites his lip, debating, before resuming his movement, hand gripping Blaine's cock a little tighter. “I made a promise,” he says quietly into Blaine's ear.

“Yeah, well, so did I,” Blaine chokes out, reaching his left hand down to intertwine his fingers with Kurt's, metal digging into their skin.

“Choose,” Kurt laughs, slackening his grip a little. “I tried and you just argued with me.” He lifts his head and stills his hand again, forcing Blaine to meet his gaze. “I won't take offense if you want me to keep my promise,” he assures him. “It doesn't mean you love me any less.”

The tension melts out of Blaine's body as his hips pivot up, cock forcing its way through Kurt's hand. “Thank you,” he breathes. “It's just -- _two weeks_ , Kurt --”

“I know, baby,” Kurt murmurs, sinking down to his knees again. Blaine has to close his eyes to suppress the influx of emotions that threatens to burst from his chest. Kurt's mouth sinks down around the head of Blaine's cock, just barely, and all Blaine can feel is _wet_ ; his knees buckle. Kurt jerks his head back and catches Blaine under his arms. “Jesus, Blaine,” he hisses, shifting awkwardly. “You're desperate for it, aren't you?”

Blaine lets his head fall to Kurt's shoulder. “Bed,” he manages to get out. “Please, bed.”

Kurt glances over at the living room. “I think the couch is closer.”

“Bed,” Blaine says again. “I will not be able to move after this. _Bed_.”

Kurt helps him to his feet and drags him by the hand to the bedroom, shoving Blaine's jeans and boxers down all at once, fingers working fast at the buttons of his shirt. He barely manages to get the last set of buttons undone before Blaine's batting his hands away. “Good enough,” he huffs out. “You, now do you.”

Kurt frowns at him. “Really?” he asks dryly. “I have to take my own clothes off?”

“If you don't, I will rip them to shreds,” Blaine assures him. “ _Dior_ , Kurt.” Kurt unbuttons his vest without another word, stripping off his shirt and making quick work of his own pants. He doesn't bother with his briefs, just strides forward and pushes Blaine back onto the bed, climbing in after him.

Kurt runs his palm up Blaine's torso, slow and deliberate, eyes dark and chest heaving. “How do you want it?” he asks breathlessly. “Do you want me to make it quick?”

Blaine shakes his head. “Not gonna last either way. Take your time. Might as well -- _enjoy it_ ,” he hisses out, voice straining on the last two words as Kurt leans down and sucks at the head of Blaine's cock again. “Jesus, _fuck_ ,” he chokes out, hips bucking up. “Oh god. Oh god. Oh _god_.” Kurt sinks down a little farther, fingers wrapping around the base delicately; he lets out a noise somewhere between a moan and a whine, mouth vibrating around Blaine's cock, and strokes just once. Blaine is going to _die_. “Move,” Blaine begs, reaching down and carding his fingers through Kurt's hair, the soft material of his shirt sweeping over Kurt's forehead. But Kurt doesn't hear him, or doesn't listen to him, anyway; he continues his teasing, feather-light touches and barely moving his mouth in order to get Blaine wet from base to tip. “Kurt,” Blaine whines.

Kurt's mouth leaves his cock briefly, the sudden absence of heat causing Blaine to shiver. “I thought you wanted me to enjoy this,” he teases.

“That's not -- what?” Blaine babbles. There's absolutely no blood left in his brain and his finger is cold from metal and his cock is exposed and all he wants is to thrust back into the warm cavern that is Kurt's mouth. “Mouth, please, Kurt, _your mouth_.”

Blaine knows he must sound ridiculously desperate but he doesn't even care because Kurt finally seems to take pity on him, angling his head to the side and sinking his mouth down Blaine's cock until the head hits the back of Kurt's throat. Kurt's tongue drags against the underside as he rises and then falls again, surrounding Blaine in _dark, wet, hot_. His hand works in short, quick jerks at the base, hand following his head, but there's no method to his ministrations. He angles his head one way, and then another, varying the speed at which he sinks back down onto Blaine's cock.

Kurt's hand wanders up Blaine's abdomen, thumb running over one of his nipples. Blaine's stomach clenches as he fights to steady his hips, to let Kurt do the work. It's so, so worth the wait, so much better than earlier because _Kurt keeps his promises_ and Blaine has an entire lifetime to look forward to. He's never doubted that, not really, but it's nice to have it affirmed. It's nice knowing that they can _and_ they will.

Kurt shifts up a little, putting more weight on his arms and the new angle affords his mouth just a little bit more room for Blaine's cock. When he sinks down again, his lips meet his fingers and Blaine's entire cock is _engulfed_ in Kurt, tight and warm and wet and and oh god his _tongue_ \--

Blaine reaches down and fists a hand in Kurt's hair, stilling his movement and holding him in place. Kurt flicks his eyes up, looking at Blaine expectantly, lips stretched wide around Blaine's cock, heavy in his mouth -- “So close,” Blaine gasps. “Can I just...?” He can almost feel Kurt smile around him as he nods slightly, eyes closing again. Blaine watches as all of Kurt's muscles relax, arms giving out and body lying limp against the mattress and Blaine's body. Blaine lifts his hips, pivoting forward and thrusting farther into Kurt's mouth, _god, yes_ ; Kurt reaches his hands around Blaine's body, tucking behind and kneading his fingers into the muscles of Blaine's ass. “Kurt, I, I want --” But he doesn't even have to _say_ what he wants because Kurt just knows and _lets him_ , lets Blaine fuck his face for all he's worth.

Kurt's tongue flattens a little, pressing against the underside of Blaine's cock again and Blaine is _lost_ to him, hips canting up and off of the mattress one, two, three times -- The noise that escapes his lips is somewhere between a gasp and a moan, a sound entirely too embarrassing and far too telling as to how much he's enjoying himself. He comes down Kurt's throat, cock twitching violently in Kurt's mouth and _fuck_ , even _that_ feels good, finally feeling release and being able to just move and not being so stiff.

His hand falls from Kurt's head and hits the mattress with a mundane finality; Blaine can't even feel the back of his knees. Kurt swallows around him, amazing but too much, too sensitive. He tries to reach his hand back up to tug Kurt off of him but he can't even do that, can barely do more than flutter his eyes tiredly at Kurt. Kurt does pull off of him, though, without being asked, and slowly kisses his way back up Blaine's body, lips moist and burning and Blaine is still vibrating from it even though he can't feel anything.

When Kurt's lips finally reach his, Blaine finds the strength to cup his hand to the back of Kurt's head, kissing with strength he knows he doesn't have; when Kurt breaks the kiss, they exchange a smile, happy and exhausted. Blaine's hand falls to Kurt's side, and the last thing he remembers before drifting off is Kurt toying with the band on his finger.

*****

Blaine wakes up to soft lips.

“Morning,” he hears Kurt greet softly.

“Mmm, morning,” Blaine mumbles back, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Mrs. Perkins invited us over.”

Blaine frowns a little. “Time is it?”

“Seven,” Kurt answers gently.

“Oh god,” Blaine huffs out, rolling over and planting his face in the pillow. “I kind of hate her.”

“No you don't,” Kurt chastises, batting at Blaine's shoulder. “Be nice. She baked muffins.”

Blaine lifts his face from the pillow a little, opening one eye. “Blueberry?” he asks hopefully.

Kurt grins at him. “She failed to specify.”

Blaine closes his eyes again, debating. “Ugh, fine,” he groans, reaching out a hand so that Kurt can help him up. “But if I fall asleep, I'm using you as a pillow.” Kurt tugs him into a sitting position and then reaches down, handing Blaine his boxers and a pair of sweatpants. Blaine glares at him. “You're dressed,” he pouts.

“I had to answer the door,” Kurt laughs. “Will you quit being such a child?”

“I'm being petulant,” Blaine argues, tugging his clothes on.

“No, you're being childish,” Kurt disagrees, but he's still smiling. He hesitates for a second and then reaches out, carding his fingers through Blaine's hair. “You have confetti in your hair,” Kurt laughs. He withdraws his hand, holding it out to reveal a few pieces of colored paper.

Blaine glances down at Kurt's hand, blinking as his eyes take in each individual color: yellow, orange, green, pink, purple, _blue_ \--

Blaine swallows thickly; it's too early for his heart to beat out of his chest like this. “Blueberry,” he mumbles faintly. “I hope she has blueberry.”

Kurt rolls his eyes and rises from the bed, Blaine close behind, and then Blaine is _really_ close behind, forehead resting on Kurt's shoulder, body leaning against him. “Onward,” Blaine mumbles, wrapping his arms around Kurt's stomach. Kurt just laughs again, walking out of the bedroom and their front door and into the hallway, essentially dragging Blaine along behind him. When he knocks on their neighbor's door, Blaine actually whimpers at the noise.

“Who is that?” Mrs. Perkins calls out. “Is that a sex criminal?” Blaine can feel Kurt shaking with silent laughter against him.

“It's us, Mrs. Perkins,” Kurt calls back, fighting to keep the laugh out of his voice. “Kurt and Blaine from down the hall.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Perkins says happily, opening the door and sighing with relief. “It's just you.”

“Hi,” Blaine mumbles against Kurt's shoulder. “I heard you had muffins.”

“He's not much of a morning person, is he?” Mrs. Perkins asks Kurt, amusement evident in her voice. Kurt laughs, finally, and shakes his head, following Mrs. Perkins into her apartment and dragging Blaine along with him. He deposits Blaine on the couch and joins the elderly woman in the kitchen, batting her hands away when she offers to make them eggs.

Kurt's in here far more often than Blaine. Mrs. Perkins is old, eighty-three and a widow, fragile, bones brittle and skin mottled with wrinkles and bruises, purple and black. But she's sweet, unbearably and cavity-inducingly sweet, and Blaine knows Kurt has a weak spot for her. She's never given them any reason to believe she's homophobic; on the contrary, on the rare occasions they could be intimate and happened to be a little too loud, she'd merely shuffle down the hall, tap gently on their door, and ask them if they could please keep it down until eight o'clock, please, when Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune were over. Kurt's far more useful to her, able to reach plates and cups in high cupboards and stand on chairs to change light-bulbs.

There are a thousand smells assaulting Blaine's senses, bread and fruit and eggs and coffee, the sound of a whisk clanking against a metal bowl and the quiet hiss of a frying pan thrumming and buzzing on his eardrums. It's warm, and it smells so good, and the couch is _so_ comfortable...

“Ahem.” Blaine blinks, pushing himself into a sitting position, wondering how long he's been dozing off. He finds Mrs. Perkins hovering above him, steaming mug of coffee in her hands.

“Oh, thank you,” Blaine mumbles, reaching out to take it from her. He takes a second to let it warm him, senses slowly starting to awaken again. When he opens his eyes again, Kurt's sinking down next to him, setting a plate full of muffins and another with an omelet down on the coffee table. He sets his mug down on the table and reaches for a muffin happily. “Hmm, blueberry.” He's about to grab one when Mrs. Perkins reaches for his hand, thumb grazing over the ring on his finger --

“Oh.” He blinks, staring at his hand, and then looks up at her. “Oh.” Kurt's hand finds his, comforting and reassuring, but Mrs. Perkins just stares at the ring for a few more seconds before settling into her own armchair. Her thumbs fumble with a remote, pushing forcefully three times before it obeys her commands, television set flickering on, VCR whirring to life. Together, they watch as the local news replays, the face of a familiar newscaster with her unsmiling face and stiff, blonde gracing the screen, recapping the festivities of last night. Her words are lost on Blaine's ears when the newsroom pulls up local footage of Times Square and his face is just _there_ \--

Kurt's hand tightens on his. “ _Oh._ ” Blaine doesn't tear his eyes away from the screen as he watches Kurt sink down to one knee again, and it happens so much quicker on screen than he remembers it, his reply coming only seconds later instead of the years Kurt's been waiting. The Kurt on screen kisses him fully and the Kurt next to him leans against his shoulder, sighing.

Mrs. Perkins hits the 'pause' button just as the Kurt on screen breaks the kiss, laughing at Rachel's voice, unheard off-screen. Blaine glances over at Kurt next to him, smiling softly, and for a minute, he almost forgets where he is. He's brought back to his surroundings, though, when Mrs. Perkins turns the television off, settling back into her armchair. “Blaine, sweetheart, can you bring me the green album off of the bookshelf? That one, just there?” she requests tiredly, gesturing.

Blaine nods, surprised that she's making a request of him instead of Kurt, and extracts himself away from Kurt's side. He pries the album from the shelf, blowing off the dust and crossing the room again to hand it to her gently, careful not to burden her too quickly with its weight. He settles back down on the couch and tugs Kurt into his embrace, eyes watching, waiting, curious. Finally, she settles on a page and turns the album around, leaning forward a little to hand it to them. Blaine takes it from her and settles it on his lap, inviting Kurt to look with him. There's a black and white photo of a man and woman, a classic Betty in a high-waisted dress and dark lipstick, hair pinned perfectly, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. On her arm is a man in uniform, eyes crinkled in laughter. At the bottom of the page is a faded label in unwavering, beautiful script: _Mel and Edna: 1947_.

“Your husband?” Kurt asks gently, fingers tracing over the laminate protecting the photograph.

“Yes,” she sighs. “I was sixteen there.”

“Gorgeous as ever,” Blaine teases, grinning up at her.

She blushes, as much as she can in her age, and waves a hand at him. “Oh, go on. I met Mel when I was fourteen,” she says fondly, reminiscing. Blaine sets the album on the coffee table and leans back against the couch, opening his body a little so Kurt can snuggle against him. “We had all the same friends, went to a beach party. I had my diary with me, was writing my autobiography, at fourteen, can you believe that?” she chuckles. Both boys smile at her. “And Mel, that little shit, stole it out of my bag and read it out loud. I was so mad at him.” Kurt actually laughs out loud, Blaine echoing him faintly, his ears burning because oh my god, Mrs. Perkins just _swore_. “But I knew, then.”

“Knew?” Blaine prompts.

“I knew I was gonna marry that son of a bitch,” Mrs. Perkins sighs. “Knew he had to be a catch if he was willing to stand up to me like that, fight with me like that.” Kurt glances up at Blaine, eyes shining, and Blaine wants nothing more than to kiss him senseless and never let him go. “Listen, I know I don't know a whole lot about you boys,” she continues, “but the day that law got passed, I drank a whole bottle of wine to celebrate. Everyone deserves this,” she insists, nodding toward the album. “I was wondering how long it'd take.”

Impulsively, Blaine pushes himself off of the couch and walks over to her, leaning down and engulfing her in his arms, squeezing her tightly. She lets out a squeak and a tight, “Oh!” When he lets her go, she reaches up and pats his cheek clumsily. “Yes, well. Go on, then, dear. Have a muffin.”

Blaine settles back down on the couch next to Kurt, thighs brushing. He nibbles happily at the hidden blueberries in his muffin. Kurt's halfway through his omelet when he speaks up, breaking the silence. “My family's in town, Mrs. Perkins.”

“Oh, was that them on the news with you?” she asks interestedly, breaking off a piece of muffin.

Kurt nods. “We're meeting them for brunch later. Did you want us to pick up anything for you while we're out?”

Blaine smiles fondly over at him, brushing his hands off on a napkin and reaching out for Kurt's plate, setting it on the table. Mrs. Perkins considers him a moment. “Milk?” she says carefully. “I think mine's just about expired. But you don't have to go to any trouble, dear-”

“It's no trouble,” Kurt assures her. “We'll pick some up on our way back. One percent?” She nods at him.

“Do you want help cleaning up?” Blaine offers, tugging Kurt's hand into his and fidgeting uncomfortably.

She shakes her head, smiling at him. “No, no. I'll have more later. You boys go crawl back into bed and sleep for a few more hours.”

“Thank you for breakfast,” Blaine says kindly, rising from the couch and tugging Kurt with him. He eyes the VCR for a moment. “Could we borrow that tape at some point? Transfer it to our computers or a DVD or something?”

“If you can do that, you've been holding out on me,” she laughs, staring sternly at Kurt. “And here I thought you were only good for reaching things in high places.”

“That's all _he's_ good for,” Blaine quips; Kurt elbows him. “Goodbye, Mrs. Perkins,” he laughs. “We'll be back later with your milk, okay?” She waves after them, and it takes Blaine until they're back in their own apartment to realize that Kurt is _pouting_. “I was teasing,” he soothes affectionately, tugging Kurt into his arms. “I promise, I'm not marrying you just for your height.”

“Oh really?” Kurt says dryly, arching an eyebrow but softening a little.

“Really,” Blaine promises. “Your mouth totally has more to do with it.”

Kurt's mouth twists into a smile. “Oh, I see,” he deadpans. “You just like me on my knees.”

Blaine grins back, wiggling his fingers in Kurt's face, gold reflecting off of the lights in the kitchen. “Definitely.”


End file.
